


The Little Magician and Other Stories

by echomoon



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Gen, Multi, Non-Sexual Age Play, cgl, ddlb, dmlb, little!quentin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-16 13:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14165625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echomoon/pseuds/echomoon
Summary: A series of drabbles, vignettes, and one shots about little!Quentin and his caretakers. Ignores canon at will and time jumps.





	1. The Wedding Night

**Author's Note:**

> aight this is my first time writing age play so let me know if i get any details wrong. this is NONSEXUAL age play, at no point will there be sexual age play in this, though there may be hints of eliot and quentin's adult relationship at times when q isn't little. tags will be updated as new chapters are updated, and the title of the chapter will hint at the situation.  
> dedicated to the anonymous friend who wanted this.

Eliot lies on the unfamiliar bed, blanketed by the unfamiliar girl he had just married and slept with while his friends were off rescuing damsels and petitioning gods. It was late, and he was sure his friends were back by now, but he wasn’t sure how the girl — his wife, hell — would take him not being there if she woke up. He had already had to deal with making sure her first time went well, he couldn’t just leave her to wake up alone, but he had a bad feeling something was about to go wrong, wanted to make sure that whatever it was wasn’t one of the others dying a terrible death. He stares at the rickety wooden ceiling, wishing he hadn’t given his flask to Margo before the wedding.

And then the door creaks open slowly, hesitantly, and Eliot sure as hell hopes it isn’t his wife’s knifemaker father come to check on them or some shit. Or, second thought, hopes that it isn’t an assassin, come to murder the new king of Fillory before he can even take his throne. He sits up, readies his hands to cast a shield just in case, and — Quentin sticks his head in, barely visible in the low light, his hair covering his face.

“Papa?” Quentin whisper-shouts.

Oh. That explains the knot that had been forming in Eliot’s stomach all night.

“Heyyy, Puppy.” Eliot says quietly, trying to sound chill. “Why aren’t you with Aunty Margo?”

“Don’t wanna.” Q mumbles, and Eliot can just barely make out him tugging on the edge of his shirt.

“Okay, um — come here, but be quiet, okay honey?” Eliot says, trying to untangle himself from the girl without waking her — she rolls over, making his heart stop for a second, but he’s free, so it works. He stands up, realizes he’s still naked, and has to search for his pants while Quentin tiptoes over. 

Quentin is already so much shorter than him, but his posture when he goes little somehow makes him look even smaller. Eliot runs a hand through his hair, and then caresses Q’s cheek.

“You’re such a good listener, honey. Can you sit crisscross for me?” As he does, Eliot kneels down, pulls Quentin into a sideways embrace. “You’re being so, so good right now, Puppy. But you can’t stay with Papa tonight, okay?”

Q looks up at him, wide eyes watery, lip wobbling. “But... Papa! I’m good!”

“I know, Puppy, I know.” Eliot says, pulling Quentin’s head against his chest and stroking his hair. “But Papa had grown up stuff to do tonight.”

Quentin is silent for a second, curling his hands into Eliot’s shirt. “Done now?”

Q was a precocious child, picking up verb tenses even now. Eliot shakes his head, trying not to smile at Quentin trying to outsmart him. “No, little king, not done until morning. And  _ you _ have a big day tomorrow, don’t you wanna sleep?”

“No.” Quentin says into his chest, but Eliot knows he’s exhausted, even with the extra energy being little seems to give him.

“I can get Jules to tuck you in.” Eliot says, sing-song, knowing she can work her magic on him the way she always does when she babysits.

“No. Papa tuck me in.” Quentin says, pulling away a little.

Aha, there we go. 

“Deal.” Eliot says. “Let’s go do that.”

Quentin pouts, but stands when Eliot pushes him up lightly, and clings to Eliot again once he is standing.

“Up.” he insists, tugging on Eliot’s shirt.

“Once we get outside, Puppy.” Eliot says, and does so once they shuffle their way out. Quentin is light and Eliot is tall — it probably looks awkward from the outside, but Q is surprisingly easy to carry. He clings to Eliot like a koala, resting his head on Eliot’s shoulder, already nodding off a little. Eliot wonders how long he waited before coming out here, how long big Quentin managed to hold this off before finally letting go.

Tucking in the sleepy Q is simple enough, for once, all the action of the day having worn him out enough that they don’t need to play their usual before bed games. Quentin, once in the bed, makes grabby hands at Eliot, who has to rifle through Quentin’s bag until he finds the stuffed bunny Q can’t sleep without. Once that’s in his hands, he closes his eyes, breathing steady already. Eliot pulls the blanket up around him, tucks it against his sides, making Q giggle tiredly.

“Love you, curly Q.” Eliot says, bending over to kiss Quentin’s forehead, then both cheeks. 

The sleepy boy replies, “Love you, Papa.”

Eliot stays a little while longer, runs his hands over Quentin’s head until he’s sure the boy is fully asleep, then quietly makes his way back to the hut he’s supposed to be in. His heart feels a little lighter, less burdened, and when he slips back into the bed he finds himself falling right asleep.


	2. Hide and Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> idk where in the timeline this would go but cheers

“Dar-ling, where a-re you?” Fen singsongs as she walks through the throne room, trying not to trip over the many bunnies or toys laying around. She can hear Q giggling from under one of the tables, the one covered by a heavy velvet cloth that draped down to the floor. He liked to make a nest there, when it wasn’t being used as the inside of the SS Cozyhorse, run by the dread pirate Curly Q, or as the table holding food during adult meetings.. She walks past the table slowly, reaching a large toy chest off to the side.

“Are you…  _ here _ ?” she says, opening the chest with a dramatic lunge, pretending to be very sad that she picked the wrong spot. Quentin’s giggles grow louder.

“How about…  _ here _ !” She says again when she passes the table a second time, this time lunging at the heavy curtains covering the windows. 

She does this a few more times, spots all over the room, pointedly ignoring Q’s shifting and giggling and occasionally visible face as he peeks out at her, and goes to sit in one of the chairs by the table.

“Where did my darling boy go?” she asks the air, and covers her face, half a dramatic show of sadness and half to hide her smile, because Quentin’s foot is poking out at her from beneath the cloth. 

“Here!” Q says, still under the table.

Fen gasps, jumps out of the seat and rushes to the middle of the room, peering behind another chair. “Where? Here?”

“Nooo, here!”

“I can hear my darling boy, but where is he?” she says again to the air.

“Am here!” he says, his voice getting impatient, and sticks his head out. The cloth drapes over him like a headscarf, his hair sticking to it wildly. Fen can’t help but laugh at the sight of him, flushed with excitement.

“There you are!” she agrees, and rushes over to him. He wiggles out from under the table, still half hunched on the ground. When Fen reaches him, she sits down and scoops him into her lap, starts to baby talk at him. 

He beams at her, flushed from the attention, clinging to her in a half hug, but after a while of that suddenly rolls out of her lap, says, “Tag! You’re it!” and runs straight across the throne room, towards the open doors.

“Ohh!” She leaps up and starts to chase after him.

Their laughter echoes through the halls of Castle Whitespire.


	3. The Recovery of Prince Pinknose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> going back in time with this one!

Now that Eliot and Margo have expressed their willingness to care for Quentin when he’s little, he’s started to feel comfortable slipping into the headspace when they’re around, doesn’t have to shut himself up in his room alone, feels comfortable reaching out to them. It’s like having a family proper, gives him feelings of comfort even stronger than just being their friend has given him. But they’re still figuring out the dynamic, and Quentin has the tendency to slip down during inconvenient times.

Like today, after a long, stressful day of testing, at the end of which he’s supposed to help set up and run a party at the cottage. He’s so tired, his mind is begging for him to just let go and slip down to littlespace. He has a few hours before he  _ really _ needs to be downstairs helping, so he decides to take risk and just set a timer, sure enough of his control, that he could pull himself back out in time. He needs this.

He sets the time and opens the drawer that holds his little things, deciding to just set up his blankets and relax, and as he pulls them out onto the floor he lets himself sink ever further into the simplicity of littlespace. He arranges a nest out of them, feeling joy bubble up in him, and starts to undress so he can dive into it, but - after pulling off his shirt, he realizes something is missing. Where’s Prince Pinknose?

He’s far enough down that he doesn’t move rationally, but instead tears through the nest, then his drawer, looking for his stuffed bunny, filled with panic because he  _ needs _ it, can’t relax in his nest without it. It isn’t on the bed, or under it, or anywhere else in the room. By the time he’s finished tearing through the room, his face has gone red and he’s panting hard, tears welling up in his eyes.

He lets out a wail, consumed by the loss, clenching his hands in his shorts. He  _ has _ to find it, has to has to. He plops onto the floor and cries, wailing and hitting his fists on his legs.

And then there’s a knock on the door, and a woman’s voice that he only sort of recognizes says, “Quentin? Are you okay?”

But all Q can do it wail again, because his bunny is gone and he doesn’t know who this is and he wants! his! bunny! 

And the voice says something else, but he doesn’t care, just throws himself to the floor, which is hard and not comfortable and he  _ hates _ it and everything is terrible.

Some time passes like that, and then the door opens. Q doesn’t pause in his tantrum, not until a warm hand touches his back - then, still crying, he still his body, curls to the side to look at who’s touching him.

“Ellll!” he cries, recognizing El, who is good and who has to help now. “El! Prince is  _ gone _ !”

“Oh, honey.” El says, and his voice is soft and his hand is stroking Q’s back, so Q stays still and just sniffles. “Is that what you’re fussing about?”

“Not fuss.” Q mumbles, hiding his face.

“Yes fuss.” El says, mimicking Q’s tone, so Q sticks his tongue out.

“C’mon, curly Q, sit up.” 

El nudges Q into sitting up and wipes the tears off his cheeks. El grips his shoulders, gently pushes his head up so that he’s looking at El’s face.

“Hey, honey.” El says.

“Mmph.” Q grumbles.

“Use your words, Q.”

“...Hi El.” Q says, barely over a whisper, and sticks his thumb in his mouth.

“Uh uh, none of that.” El says, pulling the hand away from his mouth. “Now, do you want to see the surprise I have for you in my room?”

Q makes a curious noise, looks up at El with wide eyes.

“Let’s go see, okay? Up, up.”

They leave Q’s room, make the trek down the hall to El’s; Q attached to El’s back, clinging to his shirt by the fistful, trying to get so close that his head keeps bumping against El’s back as they move. When they get to the room, Q makes a beeline for the bed, flops down on it, grinning at the bounce, and sits cross-legged. He fidgets with the edge of his pants legs, waits as patiently as he can.

“Ok, Q, close your eyes!” El says, poking his head out from the closet.

Q claps his hands over his eyes, with his fingers spread out so he can still peek.

“ _ Properly _ , darling.” El says.

Q giggles and closes his fingers. He shifts impatiently until something soft and light is plopped into his lap. His hands fly to it, seeking the softness, and his eyes follow a second later.

“Prince!” he cries happily, seeing his beloved stuffie in his lap. He pets its head, then squishes it into a tight hug.

El, kneeling at the edge of the bed, watches with a fond smile.

“I borrowed him, for a little. I’m sorry that scared you, Q.” El says, laying a hand on Q’s knee.

“S’okay.” Q mumbles into the stuffie’s head.

“Do you want to see why?”

“Why what?” Q asks.

“Why I borrowed him, silly.”

“Oh.” Q says, and bites his lip while thinking it over. “ ‘kay.”

He hands Prince Pinknose back to El, who places it on the bed facing Q. el does a few gestures, and the stuffie wiggles its nose.

Q gasps, picks it right back up, feeling the strum of a heartbeat coming from it as he does.

“???” He says to El, who’s looking at him with a smile.

“It’s a minor animation charm,” El says, and Q wrinkles his nose in confusion. “He’ll be able to respond when you play, now.”

“Oh. Tank you!” Q grins.

“Of course, honey. Do you want to play a little?”

“...nap.” Q says seriously.

“Do you want to go back to your room, or nap here?”

“Here?” Q repeats with wide eyes, because napping in El’s room is such a treat.

“Yes, darling, here.” El says.

Q nods vigorously.

El slips off his shoes and into the bed, laya out an arm for Q to cuddle against his side, Prince Pinknose placed between them. It doesn’t take long for Q to fall asleep, tired and comfortable, two heartbeats lulling him down.

 

When Margo comes up to the room later, looking for Eliot for the party, she decides to leave them be for a bit longer - thought not before taking a bunch of pictures.


	4. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> context: margo/eliot/quentin are in a relationship but all sexual mentions are dropped once they realize he's going little

Quentin is late for date night.

Their first proper date night, and he’s late, and stressed out, and borderline miserable from a crappy day. The idea of the date was the only thing that kept him going. And here he is, late! And probably ruining it! And they’ll never want to try and date him again! And -

He forces himself to stop, to breathe, to focus on getting ready to see his two favorite people. Luckily Margo had already set out an outfit for him, much nicer than his usual clothes, which means she either went shopping (unlikely because she didn’t take him as a dress up doll) or stole them from Eliot’s closet and used magic to resize them. But even after putting the clothes on he still looks like a mess. He fusses with his hair in front of the mirror, going back and forth between putting it up or down, before settling on down when he catches view of the clock and realizes that he doesn’t have time. He hops, trying to pull on his shoes and run downstairs at the same time, almost falling on his face halfway down.

He sits down at the top of the stairs to finish his shoes and not kill himself in the process, and suddenly blanks on where he’s supposed to be meeting them, anyway. Was it downstairs? Out front? The actual location was a surprise, so he couldn’t meet them there. Maybe it was downstairs. But he can’t see them from where he is, so maybe it was out front? Yeah, he’ll head there -

“Hey sugar.” Margo drawls from behind him, joining him on the steps, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

He leans into her side, thoughts stopped, her presence calming him immediately.

“You good?” she asks

“Fine,” he says, ignoring the fuzz creeping at the edge of his brain, “Where’s Eliot?”

“Still getting ready,” she replies, and pulls away, “Now enough of this, go get him.”

“?” He looks at her.

“I don’t know, kiss him until he forgets about his perfectionism. You’ll figure it out.”

She slaps his butt when he stands up; he grins at her.

Focusing on her order helps keep the fuzziness out of his brain, which is good. He knows letting it be will lead to ruining date night. He has to be Big for this, has to let his stress out another way. Which is fine, even though he’s gotten used to slipping down to littlespace whenever he wants over the last few months. He can do this. He knocks on Eliot’s door, then opens it without waiting for a response.

“I’m almost ready, Bambs, relax.” Eliot says, looking harried while sorting through a pile of ties.

“Not Margo.” Quentin replies, leaning on the doorframe.

“Quentin!” Eliot whirls around. “Don’t look, I’m not presentable.”

“You look fine to me.” Quentin says.

“Fine?” Eliot says, clutching his chest in dramatic faux anger. “ _Fine_? Quentin, you wound me.”

“Wonderful? Handsome?” Quentin says, taking a step closer with every word. “ _Ravishing_?”

The last word slips out in such a sultry tone that he has to turn away so Eliot can’t see his face turn red.

“Much better.” Eliot says, voice just as low, sending shivers down Quentin’s spine.

They gravitate towards each other, get so close Quentin feels like his skin is buzzing. He grabs hold of the bottom of Eliot’s vest, looks up at him with a tilted head, bites his lip, enjoying the way it makes Eliot’s eyes flicker down at his mouth.

“Hey,” Quentin whispers, and closes the gap between them, giving his boyfriend a short, sweet kiss.

“Hey,” Eliot whispers back when Quentin pulls away, moving his hand to the back of Quentin’s neck.

Quentin smiles up at him, wanting to give in, but Margo gave him an order. He pulls away, grabs Eliot’s other hand.

“C’mon, Margo is waiting.”

Eliot makes an annoyed noise, looks back at his abandoned pile of ties, but lets Quentin pull him out of the room.

“Finally!” Margo says when they meet her at the staircase, her hands on her hips. “Come on losers, lets go.”

-

They portal to a random alley in the city, and Margo leads them through the rest of the blocks to the location. Eliot and Quentin walk behind her, holding hands, Eliot sneaking little glances over to Quentin. He just likes to look at him, is enamoured with his stupid, emotional face. Quentin is still kind of red from earlier and its adorable. Margo stops in front of an italian restaurant, a little hole in the wall looking place.

“Here, Bambi?” Eliot asks her, making his distaste at the aesthetic clear.

“Trust me, princess.” she says, and holds the door open for them to go through.

They’re seated quickly at a seat by the window, a four person table covered in butcher paper. The walls are covered in framed photos of people, the seats covered in tacky looking red vinyl, and Eliot’s skin almost crawls at the decor, but since Margo says it’s okay…

He watches Quentin take in the atmosphere as well, then look down at the table. Eliot notices parts of the paper covered in scribbles, like someone let a little kid with crayons go at it, but the spot by Quentin is mostly blank. Quentin taps his fingers against the table nervously, and Eliot can’t help but smile. He reaches out, covers one of Quentin’s hands with his own, can almost feel the nervous energy buzzing off of him.

“Hey lovebirds, you gonna look at the menu or what?” Margo says, but her face is fond.

“Jealous, doll?” Eliot teases, and takes one of her hands as well.

Margo rolls her eyes, but holds her other hand towards Quentin. It takes him a second to get the hint and grab it.

“There. Now we’re all lovey dovey and look like we’re praying. Everyone happy?” Margo snipes.

Quentin lets go of both their hands in response, and Margo’s face softens.

“Quentin…” she starts, and flounders for a second. So very unlike her, but then, this whole dating thing is so very unlike them to start with. Eliot squeezes her hand, then lets go. She continues, “Ignore me, baby, I’m just being a bitch.”

Eliot snorts at that, and Margo lightly smacks his chest.

Quentin looks down at his hands, wringing them together for a second, then nods.

“Right. Bambi, I think you should go order for us.” Eliot says, stretching out, knowing it’ll distract Quentin a little.

“Uh huh,” she says, slightly sarcastic, but gets up anyway, points a finger at both of them in turn. “You’re eating what I order for you, no complaints.”

“Yes ma’am.” Eliot winks at her, and nudges Quentin.

“Y..yes ma’am.” Quentin repeats, blushing, looking away from them.

Margo lets out a laugh, and walks to the counter, swaying her hips.

Eliot looks back at Quentin, still wringing his hands.

“Quentin,” he says quietly, “Are you good?”

“Fine.” Quentin says, but from the way his eyes are shifting Eliot can tell something is wrong.

Still, Quentin doesn’t want to share, and this is supposed to be a fun date night. If he seems to get worse, Eliot will do something. Quentin switches to running his fingers over the table, tracing shapes. He looks at Eliot and smiles. Eliot responds by running his thumb over Quentin’s jaw, a platitude, but it seems to keep help.

When Margo saunters back to the table, she and Eliot make small talk, try to rope Quentin into speaking, which only sort of works. She gives Eliot a look, one that means ‘something is going on with him?’. Eliot gives a minute nod in response. Their focus is mainly on Quentin, on getting him to enjoy this, and they can tell that he’s trying, which is enough for them.

Eliot gets a niggling idea of what might be going on halfway through the meal, and excuses himself to the bathroom, making a stop back at the counter on his way back to the table. When he returns, he places a small pack of crayons next to Quentin’s plate.

It takes Quentin a minute to notice, but when he does he lets out a small noise as says, “Are you sure?”

“It’s fine, Q.” Margo replies, taking his hand and stroking it. “Go ahead and relax.”

Quentin looks doubtful, but they can see some of the stress melt off of him as he opens the pack and pushes his plate aside to color.

-

After the meal Quentin is much lighter, talking more, smiling more. He walks between Margo and Eliot, holding hands with them. It’s Eliot’s turn to lead them somewhere, and while before he had planned for back to his bedroom for some fun, the events of dinner made him reconsider. Instead, he takes them to a park not far from the restaurant, secluded and at this hour abandoned.

They settle by the trunk of a large tree, Eliot resting against the trunk, Margo leaning against his side; in front of them, Quentin sits cross-legged. They just relax and enjoy the night air, not feeling the need to talk, but very slowly Quentin seems to deflate, slump into himself, focusing less on relaxing and more on poking his finger into the dirt.

“Q,” Margo warns, “You know your daddy doesn’t like you getting dirty.”

Quentin throws his head up in shock, putting his hand in his lap just as fast. “But -”

“No buts,” Margo replies.

“No, I mean… it’s _date night_.” Quentin says.

“Sure is,” Margo says blithely. “But that’s not what you need right now, is it?”

Quentin stares for a second, and then his lip quivers. “I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“Honey, you aren’t ruining anything. Come here.” Margo opens her arms, and when Quentin shuffles closer she pulls him down so his head is in his lap.

As she strokes his hair, she says, “You were so good, being big for us for so long, honey. I know that was hard for you.”

Quentin turns his head, closes his eyes to stop tears from spilling out, tries to relax into her touch.

“My sweet, sweet boy,” she croons, “what do you need from us, puppy, huh? Let us help you down.”

Quentin sniffles. “Ca.. can I have a song?”

“What kind of song, puppy? Do you wa-a-nt… the radio?” she guesses, her tone playful, punctuating her sentence by giving him a little tickle.

He giggles. “Noo.”

“Do you wa-a-nt… _me_ to sing?” she rushes out, tickling again.

“Noo~” he giggles.

She lets out a fake gasp. “Then what kind of song!?”

“I want Papa song!” Q laughs.

“You want your Papa to sing? What do you think, El, do you want to sing?”

“Mm, I could pull something out for my favorite boy.” Eliot says, smiling at them. Quentin’s responding grin is so bright it makes Eliot’s heart pang.

Quentin settles down, facing Eliot, head still in Margo’s lap. Eliot takes his hand and starts to sing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lullaby eliot was going to sing was 'i see the moon'


End file.
